Lindsey Davis - Falco 13 - A Body In The Bath House

by A Body In The Bath House(lit)

  I asked about last night. They all said the party was a huge success; the dancer had been splendid. The musicians were provided by Marcellinus, not brought by Stupenda, as she called herself. This morning, both musicians and dancer left-and were seen leaving by a gateman one responsible citizen had thought to check this. The strummers and tambourinists went first. The dancer emerged a little after them; by prior arrangement she had been fetched from Noviomagus and was to be returned there in MarceUinus’ own carriage.

  The carriage was still out. I asked Verovolcus if the warriors could ride around and scour the countryside at least in the near vicinity. They ought to find the conveyance. They would not to trace “Stupenda’, I was sure.

  I went to talk to the wife.

  No luck. Helena had calmed her down, but it had been necessary to sedate her. A woman in the kitchen had produced medicinal herbs for this purpose. Helena had wrapped the widow in a blanket. Now she simply sat weeping slowly as shock really set in. She was incoherent and oblivious to our presence.

  Helena drew me aside and spoke in a low voice. “I found out what I could. The party ended very late. People were exhausted, and most of them tipsy. Beds were found. Marcellinus and his wife slept in separate quarters…” I did not comment. Helena and I shared strong views about that. Still, this was an elderly couple and he was an artistic type. “This morning the servants were all drowsy so the wife herself investigated his non-appearance. She just walked in, and came upon the horror.” Helena was shaken. Maybe she imagined how she would feel if she found me like that.

  “What is she like?”

  “Decent. Respectable if not cultured. Not his freed woman there would have been rank and a dowry, I’d say.”

  “He would want a wife who brought him money-expensive tastes.”

  “She has not yet absorbed what this means.” Helena herself in a crisis always saw instantly what it would involve. Helena conquered bereavement, fear, or any other tragedy by fiercely planning how to deal with it. “I told her we think the killer will be long gone and there is no threat to others. She could not take it in. She is not even calling for justice yet.”

  My voice rasped harshly. “If the killer comes from Anacrites, he is justice-imperial justice executed sneakily and summarily.”

  “Don’t blame the Emperor.” Helena sounded tired.

  “Oh let’s pretend Vespasian does not know what his Chief Spy fixes-or his filthy methods. No. Be realistic: Vespasian does not want to know.”

  I knew Helena would resist. “Inform Vespasian if you want to, Marcus-but he won’t thank you!”

  Helena supported the Flavian regime, yet she was a realist. Vespasian maintained a pretence that he hated spies and informers-yet the imperial intelligence service still flourished. Titus Caesar had made himself commander of the Praetorian Guard, who ran the spies network (on the rationale that they were using it to protect the safety of the Emperor). From what I heard, rather than disbanding it, Titus was planning to restructure and expand the team.

  Even my own work for Vespasian was part of this system. Being freelance rather than on the palace payroll did not absolve me from the ordure of undercover work. I had approached this mission openly-yet in the preparatory stages even I had considered whether I could accomplish more on site disguised as a fountain expert.

  Any casualties in my work were unavoidable. I never sought to cover up my actions with executions. When tragedies happened, I hoped the dead deserved their fate. But Anacrites would say the same. Perella slitting throats in far-flung provinces was only a means to liquidate offenders with maximum efficiency and minimum public outcry-using cost-effective means.

  “But why Marcellinus?” I had spoken out loud.

  Helena and I moved to an anteroom together so she was able to speculate with me, unheard. “For Anacrites to go this far seems very strange. Marcus, surely Marcellinus’ only sin was being too cosy with the client? A cold letter from Vespasian should have dealt with that.”

  “That was my reaction. I had intended to recommend recalling Marcellinus to Italy, whether he wanted to go or not.”

  Helena was frowning. “Perhaps it isn’t Anacrites. Could Claudius Lacta be at the back of this?” She could be as suspicious as I was. Lacta was a senior bureaucrat who meddled in major initiatives of all kinds. He was a keen enemy of Anacrites and no friend to me. Whenever he could, he set the two of us against one another.

  I could not reconcile myself to that suggestion. “Lacta briefed me for this trip. While it’s true I had suggested Anacrites to Vespasian as an alternative, I’ve never seen Anacrites working with Lacta -well, not since they started jostling each other for position-and I’ve never known Perella to work with anyone other than Anacrites either.”

  “So this is just the Chief Spy and his overseas agent. Every time we come abroad, we have the same problem of Anacrites dogging our footsteps,” Helena grumbled.

  “If he’s done this, I’m assuming it’s his personal initiative. Anacrites

  is not supposed to know that I am here.”

  “Did you ask Lacta to keep it confidential?”

  “Yes because I thought Lacta would enjoy deceiving Anacrites.”

  “Ha! Perhaps Anacrites found out?”

  “That would make him a good spy! Don’t wind my ratchet, lady.”

  We sat quiet, perusing the decor while the situation sank in.

  “Look around you, Marcus,” said Helena abruptly.

  I had hardly taken in the layout and styling of this villa. That was partly due to the crisis, but also I felt I was in familiar surroundings. Now I saw what Helena meant. We had ended up in reception rooms that could be part of the ‘old house’ back at the palace. I suppose it was natural. Marcellinus was the architect. He would impose his personal style. Yet the similarities were eerie…

  Its floor had multicoloured cut work stones… a calm geometry of pale wine-juice red, aqua blue, dull white, shades of grey, and corn. Well, well. There was a blue-black dado and a painted cornice with an effect just like plaster bathed in evening light. Glancing from the window (fine-quality hardwood with long-life workmanship) I could see that the exterior materials were all equally familiar too, especially the grey stone, close to marble, which I knew came from a fine British quarry on the coast. The huge bath house looked just like the one at the palace.

  Helena stood at my shoulder.

  “I presume,” she murmured, ‘the aristocracy will have seen the King’s palace and want their private homes to be just as grand. Friends and family of Togidubnus in particular.”

  “Agreed. And Marcellinus was best placed to ensure his villa had positively the best of everything. So he shows Britain how to adopt Romanisation -right down to our sophisticated corrupt practices.”

  Helena pretended this came as a surprise. “Are we Romans so bad?”

  “As in all things, sweetheart, Rome leads the world.”

  “And are you saying Marcellinus stole these expensive materials from the palace?”

  “I am not in a position to prove it-but until this moment, I was not looking for that kind of evidence.”

  “And now the truth just met your eyes.”

  “Very tastefully. In beautiful colour configurations, all skilfully worked.”

  Maybe someone else had been looking for the necessary evidence. Outside a familiar white-clad figure moved in a courtyard. Magnus.

  He had been very keen to accompany us, and after we discovered the corpse he had gone off alone to poke about. Finding an opportunity to explore Marcellinus’ villa was his reason for coming with us, probably. I marched out to join him, sinister, dexter, sinister, dexter.

  “Don’t tell me you’re looking for “lost” property!”

  I had found Magnus frantically pulling covers off piles of stacked materials. In his triumph, he forgot our disagreement when I accused him of the other killing. “Jupiter, Falco! He had some depot!” Excitement left him bright-eyed.

  Marcellinus was sto
ring all a home enthusiast could want and these were not mere samples. Fine goods were assembled here in large quantities. A renovating handyman would have gurgled with delight at this collection of building sundries. Roof tiles, floor veneers, flues, drains” Ceramic water pipes!” crowed Magnus.

  “I keep a few things at home myself I mused. “I follow the “it might come in handy one day” principle.”

  Magnus turned to face me. “Couple of spare tiles for when your annex loses that wonky patch in the next storm? Timber off cuts Sack of tesserae to match your special floor in case some idiot kicks up a corner? Don’t we all!”

  “And architects do it on a grand scale?”

  “Not all of them,” Magnus said grimly.

  “Maybe this stuff has been paid for.”

  Magnus only let out a harsh guffaw.

  “I’d ask the grieving widow for a sight of the relevant invoices,” I rasped, ‘but it seems heartless.”

  “Now you’re making me weep, Falco.”

  Magnus was once again burrowing among stacks of marble sheets. “The carts come in,” he muttered, his roughened hands pulling the heavy slabs forward to inspect them. “We certify the delivery; the carts go out again. Cyprianus has taken to installing a gateman, who inspects every empty one.”

  “And you have been checking them personally, while they are parked up!”

  “You saw me, Falco -and I saw you checking me, for that matter.”

  “You could have told me what you were doing.”

  “You could have told me I was trying to catch them using the rubbish removal trick-a layer of stolen goods is hidden under rubble. Anyway yesl’ He stopped. He had licked his thumb and washed it over a particular marble block. Under the dust showed a small, neatly scratched cross. Magnus let the block rest against its brothers, then stood back, sighing like a sailor.

  “You marked a consignment.”

  “And now I’ve found it here. Let him talk his way out of that one.”

  “Slight problem with the interrogation, Magnus! I’m diligent but Marcellinus may not cooperate…”

  “Plus he had those pipes-they must be the ones Rectus is bellyaching over.”

  “Rectus will be pleased.”

  “He’ll be farting delirious!”

  “Will you arrange to fetch all this back to the palace?”

  Tin staying here to guard it. When you go back, Falco, will you ask Cyprianus to organise transport?” Magnus then gazed at me. “By the way I had back-up, you know. When Gaius couldn’t explain his whereabouts yesterday, it’s because he was helping me search wagons.”

  “So you were never at the bath house last night?”

  “Actually I was.” Magnus looked shamefaced. “I really have to explain this, don’t I?”

  “It would be wise.” I now thought him innocent, but I answered coldly.

  “It was like this: I went to the baths, took off my togs and then Gaius

  nipped after me to say there was movement by the wagons. I’d already

  seen that Pomponius had put his lurid kit in the changing room and I

  was not looking forward to leisure time with him. So I dragged on

  I boots and a tunic, then left everything else.”

  “So that’s how your satchel was hanging there unsupervised, when the killers borrowed your five-four-three and compasses?”

  I “Right. It turned out there really was a cart leaving, but it was just

  that appalling statue merchant you brought on site.”

  I’Sextius is not my protege!” “Anyway, Strephon finally gave him the push. Sextius was skulking off to Novio and taking his junk. Have you seen it, Falco? Useless trash… We searched the cart, then I was so demoralised I really could not face strigil ling down next to Pomponius. I fetched my bag and clean clothes and went back to my quarters. If anyone had meddled with my satchel, I didn’t notice.”

  “Did you see where Gaius went?”

  “He didn’t come back to the baths with me. He went off to bed. I didn’t hang about, and I don’t know whether Pomponius was dead at that point or not.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me all this?”

  Magnus gave me a sneer. “You’re the man from Rome!”

  “That doesn’t make me the enemy.”

  “Oh doesn’t it!” he scoffed.

  I ignored that. “And you think Gains is reliable?1

  “He’s been an enormous help.”

  “How did he get involved, Magnus?”

  Now it was the surveyor’s turn to dodge the question. “Gaius is a good lad.” I had thought so myself once.

  “So you’re a diligent site official, he’s an honest clerk? And I thought you two were cuddling in the same bath robe!”

  “Oh spare me! You know about Gaius?”

  “I know nothing. No one talks to me.”

  “Ask him,” said Magnus.

  XLVI

  magnus and I continued thoughtfully to gaze at the Marcellinus house.

  “Nice billet!” I commented. “From, the superb workmanship, he even used labourers and craftsmen from the palace site. It’s a cliche, the architect doing up his own house at the client’s expense.”

  “It still stinks, Falco.” Magnus was disgusted. He was a straight dealer who on principle denied himself the perks that Marcellinus had taken so readily. He must have known already what had been going on. That did not make it easier for him to stand here staring at the proof.

  “Did Pornponius take liberties too?” I asked.

  “No.” Magnus calmed down slightly. “One thing you could say for Pornponius, he owned about five properties, but they were all in Italy none placed conveniently near a project. And I never knew him commandeer so much as a wood nail for any of them.”

  “How do you think Marcellinus got away with it?”

  “Probably started small.” Magnus forced himself to evaluate the fraud scientifically. “Genuine unwanted stuff. Mismatched colours. Overbought items. “Nobody will miss it; it will only go to waste…” Labourers they were trying to keep busy during quiet periods in the contract would be despatched to help out here. As project manager, Marcellinus could certify anything. If nobody picked up the increasing costs, he was laughing. And nobody did.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Don’t pretend you knew about it, Falco!”

  “No.” But seeing what had now happened, I could name a palace bureau that must have Marcellinus on a file. There had to be some reason why Anacrites had sent Perella out here. It was typical that he would be acting on outdated information, when current problems on the new scheme made Marcellinus a mere side issue.

  “Eventually, Marcellinus saw his source of supplies as a right?” I deduced. “He saw nothing wrong in it.”

  “Everyone here thought supplying the architect with goodies was routine/ Magnus confirmed. “My worst problem has been breaking that attitude. I thought the King was in on it still, he’s a provincial. Marcellinus had a duty to set him straight.”

  “I’m sure that, finally, he embarrassed the King.”

  “Too late,” said Magnus. “They had been too close. The King couldn’t shake Marcellinus off. That was why Pomponius used to hate letting Verovolcus in on anything.”

  “The long shadow of Marcellinus thwarted all attempts to keep the new scheme solvent? I’ve seen for myself,” I told him. “Even with me right there on site, Marcellinus was quite openly leaning on people like Milchato to keep his free gifts coming.”

  “Bloody Milchato takes a cut,” the surveyor growled. “I’m damn sure of it.”

  “We can sort that. He worked here on the previous building. Time he had a career move.”

  “Oh “for further development of his personal craft skills”, you mean?”

  “I see, dear Magnus, that you know how it’s done!”

  “Just move the problem on.”

  “Move him to work on a military latrine at the bad end of Moesia.”

  “They don’t have mar
ble,” Magnus corrected me pedantically.

  “Quite.”

  We reflected on the failings and in the long run, the powers of gigantic bureaucracy. When that became too solemn, I mused ruefully, “It must have seemed so neat at first. Togidubnus has a refit-then so does Marcellinus.”

  “Then spoilsport Rome sends in a brand new project manager.”

  “Pomponius makes himself unpopular, so Marcellinus sees his chance to reposition. But the King has adapted to Vespasian’s style; he definitely grows unhappy.” Despite their famous friendship, I was now sure Togidubnus had sent me to see this villa on purpose. I was to discover the fraud. “Togidubnus wants to see the corruption end.”

  Magnus stared at me. “Just how badly does he want that, Falco? This murder seems rather too convenient.”

  I was startled. “You’re surely not suggesting he had a hand in it?”

  “He made damn sure he had left the scene before it happened.”

  “I don’t fancy explaining back on the Palatine that a favourite of Vespasian’s is a murderer!” I groaned. “But did he organise it? I do hope not.”

  “The Palatine may not be entirely clean, Falco. I bet this starts a whole way further up than Novio.” Magnus was sharp. Too sharp for his own good, maybe. He might not have heard of Anacrites or Lacta by name, but he knew what went on.

  I tried to disagree. “It’s a menace. Murder draws too much attention.”

  “But this way, there won’t have to be an embarrassing corruption trial,” Magnus pointed out.

  “True.”

  Was avoiding political embarrassment enough to justify this murder in Anacrites’ eyes? Yes, his wheeler-dealing, double-standards section at the Palace would certainly see it that way. And they would not like Magnus and me deducing what they had done.